


Anywhere With You

by offensiveagentpie



Category: Star Trek, Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies)
Genre: Anal Sex, Friends to Lovers, Humor, M/M, Oral Sex, Road Trips, mckirk - Freeform, more road trip cliches than you can shake a stick at
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-22
Updated: 2014-05-28
Packaged: 2018-01-26 03:05:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 14,651
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1672361
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/offensiveagentpie/pseuds/offensiveagentpie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The idea came to him, as most of his more brilliant ideas do, while he was doing some tune ups on his bike.  Bright late summer sunlight streamed off of the hood of the Corvette parked in the drive way and something just clicked for Jim Kirk.</p><p>A McKirk road trip fic for all!</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> A canon divergent story of how Jim and Bones travel cross country to begin their lives in Starfleet.

The idea came to him, as most of his more brilliant ideas do, while he was doing some tune ups on his bike. Bright late summer sunlight streamed off of the hood of the Corvette parked in the drive way and something just clicked for Jim Kirk. His gaze fell and lingered, transfixed, on the front bumper of the car for a moment as his brain ran through some plans and a minute later he’s grinning, wiping grease onto his jeans and bolting across the yard.

-oOo-

The temperature inside the Medical Arts building of the University of Iowa is absolutely sweltering. Leonard McCoy is no stranger to heat having lived in Georgia until a year ago, but in this day and age you would think an air conditioner problem would be an easy fix. Sadly, however, it appears to be unattended to, and so he’s forced to sit and sweat uncomfortably in the world’s longest Xenobiology lecture.

He wasn’t even sure why he had to be there in the first place, it being the last day of the summer semester and all. He’d passed all of his finals and in a week’s time he’ll be officially owned by Starfleet. So it’s not exactly his fault if the dull lecture on Gorn digestive systems, combined with the heat, isn’t holding his interest. 

The battle he fights against his drooping eyelids is a valiant one indeed, but just as he’s about to drift into a sweet drowsy doze, a click on the window snaps him awake. Typing a few hurried notes into his PADD he tries to make it look like he’s paying attention, but the click happens again…twice. Checking that the professor is thoroughly engrossed in explaining a 3D holo of a large intestine, he leans towards the window and looks down a story to the lawn below.

Jim is standing down there, grinning like an idiot and holding a handful of pebbles. He waves excitedly when he realizes he has McCoy’s attention and shouts up, “Is your class almost done?” which is barely audible through the glass.

Fighting off the urge to smack his palm to his forehead McCoy flashes his hand at Jim four times, hoping to hell that 20 minutes of this awful lecture will be enough to prepare him for whatever scheme has got Jim making that face.

When McCoy exits the building after the class finishes Jim bounds up to him, circling around the doctor once before happily walking backwards in front of him. McCoy trudges determinedly on. 

“Bones, my friend, today is the first day of the rest of our lives,” Jim says with a melodramatic look, as though his words are extremely important.

“What did you do? What are you doing? And what are you going to do?” McCoy replies flatly, lips pressing together.

Jim casts him a reproachful look. “Have some faith will you?” he says as he skips to the side, placing an arm around McCoy’s shoulders. “I’ve come up with the perfect way to spend our last week of freedom before becoming the Federation’s finest.”

McCoy can’t hold back the snort of disbelief even if he tried. “Oh, yeah? And what does this plan of yours entail? Because I can assure you that 99% of whatever you could possibly come up with, I won’t do.”

“Yeah, well it’s a good thing that I’ve left you with no other choice,” Jim says, ignoring his friend’s horrified look as he tugs McCoy around the corner to the campus parking lot. Parked right against the curb is the Corvette. “Tah dah!” he says, flinging his arms wide.

“Your dad’s old car, color me impressed.” McCoy replies dryly. “And what do you mean I’ve got no other choi—“

“Ah, but it’s not just my dad’s old car,” Jim interrupts. “It’s the car that’s going to take us on a road trip. A journey that’s sure to enrich our lives and cleanse our souls on the way to San Francisco.” Jim recites as he places a hand over his heart and looks wistfully into the distance. “And as for having no choice, I knew you were anal enough to get everything for the move to HQ ready ahead of time, so I took the liberty of breaking into your apartment, packing your stuff into the trunk, and signing off on your lease with Ms. Pruner,” Jim states, voice bright and bubbly, as though breaking and entering is just a normal thing all friends do. 

“Your landlady does love me you know; she just told us to have a wonderful time and to make sure to send her a comm every once in a while.”

A few moments of silence pass as a war rages inside of McCoy. He’s caught between anger and confusion and indignation, and in the end settles for a stuttered, “Jim, you can’t just-- It’s not like I can just up and…there is no way in hell you’re dragging me a thousand miles in that rust bucket.” 

But Jim just leans against him, all warmth, blue eyes, and false innocence. “Actually, it’s closer to two thousand miles, and the car is perfectly up to date. I also figured it would save you a shuttle trip.” He grins and bats his eyes, knowing full well that that would be the icing on the cake.

McCoy scrubs his hands over his face. “I hate you.”

“Pretty sure you _don’t_ ,” Jim wheedles.

He can feel the veins in his neck straining and there’s a throb behind his eyes that’s making itself painfully known. With a sigh he goes against all of his common sense and better judgment and mutters, “And you’re gonna make this trip last for a week how?”

Jim’s face lights up like its Christmas as he grabs McCoy in a crushing hug. “Don’t worry; I’m sure we’ll think of something.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So here it is! The McKirk Road Trip fic that I've always wanted to read, but couldn't find, so I wrote it. Clichés and my attempt at humor are in here as well. Enjoy the ride and thanks for reading!


	2. Chapter 2

He gave in too easily. It’s the thought that’s been plaguing him for a while now. He should have stood his ground, should have said no, but for the life of him he’s not sure how he would have done it. Jim Kirk, as far as McCoy is concerned, is an unstoppable force. And no matter how many times he replays their conversation back at the University in his head, he can’t see any way that he could have talked, or complained his way out of it.

They’ve been driving for a while already and he realizes that, despite knowing the kid for just under a year, the thought of carrying out enough conversations to last a few days is rather daunting. If he had known that scraping Jim off of a bar floor on his first weekend in town would lead to something like this, he may have just left the punk there. But despite his sour mood the trip hasn’t been bad so far, and he hasn’t been forced to talk too much. In fact, there’s been a comfortable, relaxed sort of silence between them most of the time; unless you count Jim belting out songs along with some 20th Century classic rock mix that’s been playing.

The wind that’s blowing his hair back is starting to get cooler and the sky is fading into a dusky pink when Jim yanks the wheel hard to the right, throwing him into the door.

“Dammit, Jim! Are you trying to throw me out or what?”

“Sorry, Bones,” Jim calls over the music--he doesn’t sound remotely apologetic. “Just taking a bit of a scenic detour, that’s all.”

McCoy huffs and casts a look out at the flat, dusty land outside the car. “I hate to break it to you, kid, but this is the same godforsaken dust bowl landscape that makes up the whole damn state. I don’t see anything scenic about it.”

Jim waggles a finger at him. “Patience, Bones! We’ll be there in a few minutes.” He starts singing along again, bouncing slightly in his seat.

Shaking his head, McCoy shuffles down in the seat a bit, eyes taking in the faded grasslands as night settles in. Just as they’re passing what seems to be the thousandth identical scruff of brush he notices that the night sky ahead is noticeably much lighter than it should be, given that the sun is setting in the opposite direction.

“What on earth is that?” He asks, sitting up once again.

Jim just grins at him and brings the car to a stop over the top of a hill. Down in the valley below is a massive ship yard, lights shining with sparkling brilliance in the rural night.

A moment of silence stretches between them. 

“Wow,” McCoy can’t help but be slightly awestruck. The ship is still in the early stages of construction, but it’s massive. A large disc shaped hull is slowly taking form amongst the scaffolding. He’s just about to ask what exactly is going on when Jim’s door opens and then slams shut.

“Come on,” Jim’s grinning at him from outside the car as he walks to the front and hops up on the hood.

Following him, McCoy leans against the front bumper, watching as Jim stares down at the shipyard, eyes wide with wonder. “Isn’t she beautiful?” Jim asks, voice soft and reverent.

“She’s barely put together…” McCoy begins, but Jim doesn’t seem to hear him.

“She’s gonna be the new flagship for the Federation. The _USS Enterprise_ ,” he sighs. “Constitution class, she’s going to have two nacelles as well, just there, to house the warp coils,” he explains, pointing to another set of scaffolds and warehouses a little bit to the left of where the hull is being built. “Such a streamlined design,” he sighs again. “Can you imagine? Going out into space where no one’s been before. Blazing through the stars, discovering new planets, and new life? All while at the helm of a beauty like that. It’ll be amazing. That’s the ship I’m going to serve on Bones, it has to be. And if it all goes well, someday she’s going to be mine,” he says, voice taking on a note of steely resolve.

McCoy watches Jim’s face as he talks. He gets caught up in the hushed tones and wistful, but determined looks, and the more he listens, the more he begins to feel somewhere deep inside of him as though Jim is absolutely right. In that exact moment he can see in his mind’s eye Jim becoming every bit the space faring explorer he longs to be.

The thought of mentioning those thoughts out loud, for some reason, makes his stomach give an odd little twist; so instead he opts for few more moments of reverent gazing before bumping his shoulder into Jim’s. “You want me to leave you two alone for a while? Give you some time to recite some poetry or whisper sweet nothings?”

Jim snaps out of his reverie, “Shut up! Way to ruin a moment!” He says, punching McCoy playfully in the arm. But there’s no heat in it, and he wrinkles his nose as he grins, sliding off the hood of the car. “Just for that, I get the back seat tonight.”

McCoy turns to watch as Jim walks to the back of the car and roots through the trunk. “What do you mean, you get the back seat?”

“To sleep, duh,” Jim replies, chucking a small pillow at his face. “You’re gonna have to make do with the recline function of the passenger seat.”

“Wait one damn minute; not only do I have to sit on my ass in that car all day, but now you’re telling me I’m sleeping in it too?” McCoy growls at him. The headache he had earlier is threatening to swell back to life.

Jim shrugs. “For tonight at least. I mean I certainly didn’t see any hotels in this-- what did you call it? ‘Godforsaken dustbowl landscape’-- so it looks like we’re in the car.” He swings his legs over the door, climbing into the back, and reaches toward the driver’s seat. “Hurry up and get in, I’m shutting the roof.” 

“You’re an asshole. I’m going to get a crick in my neck from this,” McCoy gripes.

“Physician, heal thy self,” Jim mumbles out around a yawn, and flops down in the back seat, making sure to make a show out of stretching out as far as he can. 

“That’s not what that means, idiot.” McCoy replies, grumbling the whole time as he settles back into the seat. When he reclines it, he makes sure it bumps hard into Jim’s knees.

Jim lets out an ‘oompf!’ when it does. “Right back at you,” he says, reaching out to poke a finger hard into McCoy’s cheek. “Now go to sleep you grumpy bastard.”

McCoy lets out a grunt and tries his hardest to do just that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm taking the liberty of assuming that the shipyard that Jim sees in the '09 movie is relatively close to where he lives. I'm pretty sure it is given that he gets there in time to leave on the shuttle. *shrug* I don't really know the layout of 23rd century Iowa...
> 
> Also, some Enterprise lovin'. Because she really is a beauty.


	3. Chapter 3

As predicted, McCoy wakes with a terribly stiff neck. He groans like a dying man, stretching as far as he can in what little space he has. Behind him he hears Jim murmur something about not remembering a wounded cow being in the car.

McCoy tries and fails at stifling the next moan that escapes. “You know…” he croaks, voice still rough from sleep. “I know a hell of a lot of annoying people, but you’re the first literal pain in the neck I’ve had the misfortune to meet.” He rolls his head to the side, watching Jim from between the seats. It’s an action he immediately regrets.

The little bastard’s hair is a mess and its glowing gold in the morning sun that streams through the windows. That, accompanied with the drowsy little giggles and smile McCoy’s words wring out of him, is enough to make anyone with a pulse pause for a moment and reevaluate some key components of their life choices. The sight makes McCoy’s stomach do that odd little twist again. He emphatically blames it on low blood sugar due to a lack of breakfast, before returning his seat to its upright position. 

“I could say the same for you and your ‘it’s just an allergy booster, you infant’ hypo-sprays, you know,” Jim retorts, sitting up and doing a few stretches of his own. “Ugh…I feel like shit. There’s a rest stop for shuttles about a half hour from here,” he states, clambering into the driver’s seat, plainly making it a point to bump his ass right into McCoy’s face. 

“You bastard,” McCoy huffs, shoving him to the side.

Jim just sticks out his tongue and puts the key in the ignition, the engine rumbles to life as Jim thumps the gear into drive. “Think the caffeine gods will forgive us if we put off coffee that long? So long, baby!” Jim hollers as an afterthought, leaning out of the window towards the ship yard before whipping the car around in a wide circle

“We might survive,” McCoy replies grimly, gripping onto the door handle. “Just don’t kill us on the drive there. God,” he groans, rubbing his hands over his face, “I need to hit the sonics.”

“Yeah you do,” Jim mutters under his breath. McCoy whaps him on the arm as the tires kick up dust behind them.

 

-oOo-

 

Showers, coffee, and breakfast complete, they head out on the road again. Just as McCoy is starting to curse the dull flatness outside his window, Jim turns the radio down and drums his fingers on the wheel. “So I’ve been thinking…”

McCoy flashes him a look of exaggerated shock. “Oh god, pull over, I’ll check if you’ve hurt yourself.”

Jim snorts. “Shut up. No, but really, I was thinking. We’ve been friends for, what…almost a year now? And outside the basics, I don’t really know _that_ much about you. You’re a hard man to get to know, Bones. So,” he says with a tone of determination that has McCoy apprehensive already, “We’re going to play the question game. I’ll even let you go first.”

“The question game?” McCoy asks blankly.

“Yes, the question game. We’re going to ask questions to get to know each other better; we’ll basically be blood brothers by the time we reach ‘Frisco.”

McCoy rolls his eyes. “You sound like a kid at a slumber party…”

“Shush and ask your damn question.”

“Fine!” and just like that it seems that every single coherent thought and possible question leaves his mind for good. “Jeeze, I dunno. What…uh…what’s your favorite color?”

“You are the lamest person on the planet,” Jim replies flatly.

“Shut up. Just give me a damn answer; or is that not how this little game of yours works?”

“Ah, that’s another question; wait your turn. As for my answer, it’s orange.” Jim says with a casual shrug.

McCoy can’t help the way his eyebrows jump slightly. “You are probably the only person in the history of forever to say that.”

“What’s wrong with orange?” Jim shoots back at him defensively. “It’s bright and happy and it’s a good color. What’s yours then?”

“Blue.”

“Aw,” Jim leans over and brushes their shoulders together. “Like my eyes?” he flirts, batting his eyelashes at McCoy.

“Yeah Jim; they’re my own personal connection to the sky,” he replies dryly, noticing that despite his tone, Jim’s cheeks grow pink. “Darker blue though, I suppose.”

“What, like the ocean?”

“I hate the ocean,” McCoy mumbles with a shudder. “How is it anything but terrifying?” he continues after Jim casts him quizzical look. 

McCoy sighs and decides to launch into his story right off, to save him any wheedling from Jim if he were to stall. “When I was younger, I went to the beach with some friends; first time I was ever there. My foot sunk down in the sand and a wave hit me from behind. Snapped my knee to the side and messed up my MCL like you wouldn’t believe. I could barely walk and the waves just kept pounding at me. I thought I was going to drown,” he paused, remembering the sensation and felt his body tense up even from the memory. “Not to mention god knows what that might be lurking right next to you while you’re having your fun little swim. I mean…yeah, it’s pretty to look at sure, but I’ll just keep as far away from the water as possible, thanks.”

“Damn,” Jim says, voice hushed. “That’s…that bites, Bones. I’ve never been to the ocean. I’ll make sure not to drag you in swimming with me when we get to the Bay.”

“You better not,” his voice holds a bit of a threat. “Okay, I’m counting that as your question, so it’s my turn again,” he said, eager to get the conversation off of himself. “How’d you get your step-dad to let you take the car? I thought he was a real asshole about it being his now?”

Jim’s hands tighten on the wheel ever so slightly. “I did some digging into my Dad’s Will, the one he wrote up before he enlisted.” His voice is tight and McCoy feels slightly guilty for even bringing it up.

“Turns out he left it to my Mom, and since she wants nothing to do with it, and since I’m the only other one related to him by blood who does, it’s mine.” He smiles, relaxing and patting the dashboard fondly. “Which is great, because I’ve always loved this car. She might be old, but she’s still a beauty.”

McCoy chuckles, “You got a thing for vehicles or what, Jim? And why are they always ladies?” he asks.

“Because,” Jim winks at him as he grabs the gear stick, stroking it up and down. “You gotta know how to treat them _just_ right.”

McCoy can’t stop himself from involuntarily clearing his throat, nor can he take his eyes off of Jim’s hand and the steady rhythm that it’s making. “I-I don’t think that’s how you please a lady, Jim.”

Jim, damn him, smirks and puts on the most sultry bedroom eyes McCoy has ever seen. “Oh, I know. I can please a man too, though, y’know.”

McCoy feels heat crawling up the back of his neck.

“Oh!” Jim suddenly exclaims and the moment completely dissipates as he returns to his normal bright-eyed, excited expression. “There’s a question for you; when’d you lose your virginity?”

“Jesus, Jim!”

“Come on; here, I’ll tell you mine. I was 17 when I first did it with a girl, 19 when I first did it with a guy. 19 for my first alien too, though they didn’t have a defined gender.”

McCoy isn’t sure why it throws him for a loop to be finding this out. He’s open minded, and he should know better than to think that someone like Jim would limit himself in any of his endeavors. But it still causes that little twist in his stomach to make itself known again. He takes a steadying breath. “21 for the first time with a girl, 24 with a man.”

Jim flashes him a surprised and appraising look. 

“What?” McCoy snaps back, waiting for Jim to mock him for being a late bloomer or something else equally ridiculous.

“Nothing, I just…I didn’t think you were into guys is all,” Jim’s cheeks are flushing again.

McCoy can’t decide what to call Jim’s tone of voice, so he shrugs it off. “I’m into what I’m into...”

Jim just nods. “Your turn,” he says, before the silence can become awkward.

 

-oOo-

 

The game goes on for the rest of the afternoon. They share everything from first memories- Jim hanging a blue satin ornament on the Christmas tree when he was little and McCoy feeding his Grandfather’s horse apples, to favorite smells- baking bread and sandalwood respectively. Jim has a thing for old Sci-Fi B-holos, and McCoy really likes old Westerns. They both share a secret guilty pleasure in watching old Disney movies and that, when it comes to cuddling, Jim prefers to be little spoon while McCoy prefers to be big spoon. They both dislike grapefruit and Jim loves dogs while McCoy prefers cats. McCoy took piano lessons from ages 9-16, but was never really that good at it, and Jim played lacrosse in high school. 

McCoy notices that each fact he reveals uncoils something wound tight inside of him, and each fact he learns about Jim, swirls and spreads warmth through his stomach and limbs. He laughs and smiles freely a lot more than he ought to as the day wears on.

It’s a great way to spend a day and McCoy realizes when he sees the sun beginning to set behind a huge storm cloud, that it’s the most fun he’s had in ages.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ah yes, the question game... aka the 'Let me dump a bunch of headcanons into one chapter' game.
> 
> Also, I shamelessly gave Bones my first experience at the ocean.


	4. Chapter 4

“I think we ought to find a place to spend the night,” McCoy says nearing evening; thunder is rumbling in the distance and he can see the mountain of a storm cloud working its way across the wide open sky. “Get settled before the storm hits.”

“Sure thing, cowboy,” Jim says sarcastically. “This thing does have a roof, remember?”

“Of course I do,” McCoy grouses back. “But if you think I’m sleeping in this car again, you’ve got another thing coming.”

Further down a lonely stretch of highway they manage to find a motel that doesn’t look like it’s been updated in at least a hundred years. By the time they pull into the parking lot the rain is absolutely pouring down.

“You go check in,” Jim says. “I’ll park the car and get the bags.”

“Got an umbrella?”

“Nope,” Jim grins and shrugs innocently.

McCoy rushes out of the door and runs for the lobby, grumbling all the while. He still gets completely soaked, though, so when he comes out to see Jim standing perfectly dry under the awning, he’s understandably annoyed.

“How come you ain’t even damp?”

“The sun always shines on Jim Kirk,” Jim answers, chucking McCoy’s duffle bag at his chest. “I parked right up underneath the cover,” he points at the car, “Didn’t get a drop on me.”

“Shove it up your ass,” McCoy growls, not bothering to fight the curl of a one-sided smile. “We’re in room 14,” he leads the way, passing Jim and smacking the kid on the arm for laughing as his shoes squelch with rain.

He stops dead when he opens the door. Jim brushes up behind him, craning his head over his shoulder.

“I asked for a double,” McCoy says, looking at the rather small and only bed in the room. 

“Well, it is a double bed,” Jim supplies helpfully as McCoy lets out an ‘ugh’. “What’s wrong? Don’t wanna cuddle?” the false petulance in his voice shouldn’t be as endearing as is.

McCoy just rolls his eyes. “Whatever; I’m getting out of these damn wet clothes.”

“Oooh!” Jim coos, as though he’s just heard of a particularly delicious scandal. “So you want to do _more_ than cuddle; I see how it is.”

“Oh my _God_!” McCoy rubs his hands down his face, feeling heat crawl up the back of his neck in spite of himself. “You’re impossible. I am getting a shower. You-" he points at Jim, “work on getting that so called genius mind out of the gutter.”

Once he’s in the bathroom and the door is securely shut, he tosses his clothes into the thankfully up to date laundry unit and sets it on dry. When he sees that the shower is actually one that uses honest to god water, he lets out a pleased little hum. He turns the handle just shy of scalding, and steps in; letting out a sigh as his achy muscles relax after being in the car for so long.

 

-oOo-

 

“For a guy so upset about getting wet, it seems contradictory for you to use the water option Bones,” he hears Jim call when he opens the bathroom door, towel wrapped firmly around his waist.

McCoy takes a breath, “I used to take water showers all the time at my Pappy’s farm in Georgia; they’re relaxing. And besides it was the only option.”

Jim chuckles. “You had such an adorably quaint Southern childhood didn’t you---holy crap, Bones.”

McCoy stops, inches from his bag, reflexively grabbing onto the towel and making sure it’s securely wrapped. “What?”

“Your stomach!” Jim points an accusing finger at his middle. “I had no idea you were so ripped. Me, I’ve got like, this little bit of permanent pudge,” he stands up from the bed, lifting his shirt and poking at the thin layer of softness right above his pants. “I can’t seem to get rid of it.”

McCoy’s eyes drift from Jim’s prodding finger to the trail of fine hair that leads from his navel to beneath his waist band. He clears his throat and tries his best to keep his normal tone of voice as he nabs a pair of boxers from his bag and slides them on. “Yeah, well if you ate better, maybe you’d be in better shape. But no, you don’t listen to your friend the doctor do you?”

“Whatever,” Jim dismisses, dropping his shirt back down. “Did you ever think of joining a gym? Because you’d have a total washboard in no time.”

And then he traces a finger down McCoy’s stomach, stopping a thankfully decent distance from his underwear.

Warning sirens start to sound in McCoy’s head and his abs twitch despite himself. He can tell his cheeks and ears are burning red. Of course Jim notices.

“You’re blushing!”

“Shut—“

“Oh my god, are you _ticklish_?”

“Jim, I swear to god.”

But Jim apparently doesn’t give a crap about swearing to any deity. He lets out what can only be described as a war cry before mercilessly tickling the daylights out of McCoy’s sides.

“You little shit!” McCoy can’t help but fold in on himself as he’s assaulted, but he does manage to lean forward and wrap his arms around Jim’s middle. He uses that leverage and tackles them to the bed.

They roughhouse like school boys and it goes on far longer than two sane adult men should allow; but Jim is actually cackling beneath him and McCoy has to bite his lip from grinning like a complete idiot, and he’ll be damned if he can actually find a way to stop all this.

Just as Jim’s trying to bring a knee up, trying to get into some sort of place where he might be able to flip their positions, McCoy sees his chance and grabs his wrists, letting out a ‘Hah!’ of triumph as he pins them above Jim’s head on the mattress.

“It’s a good thing I don’t work out,” he huffs through a smirk. “Or I would have pinned you a lot sooner.”

Jim exhales a laugh, eyes bright. “Dream on, old man.”

It’s not until McCoy feels Jim’s breath on his lips that he realizes just how close they are. How he can see every flicker of amusement in the blue eyes below him. Without meaning to, he licks his lips and sees Jim follow the movement before darting his gaze back up. He’s staring up at McCoy with a look that implies nothing less than an offer of something definitely more adult than a tickle fight.

Despite him knowing that it’s medically impossible, it feels as though all of his blood has rushed to either his lower belly or his face. The only response he can manage in the face of Jim’s bedroom eyes is a prolonged “Uh” before he flops indelicately off to the side. He gets up off the bed, and hurriedly tugs on a t-shirt. “You, uh, you going to get your shower then?” his voice sounds strained even to his own ears.

When his head pops out of the shirt, Jim is looking at him with lips pressed together and his eyes slightly squinted. McCoy feels like an astrophysics equation, and that he’s slowly going to be solved whether he likes it or not.

The quiet lasts a beat longer before Jim stands up, grabbing his bag off the floor. “Sure am,” he replies simply, heading off to the bathroom.

McCoy lies down and tries to distract himself by reading some news stories on his PADD. It’s easy to write off what happened as natural bodily responses to human physicality and proximity; at least that’s what his medically trained brain is trying to believe. On the other hand, it’s also easy to believe that he really liked the feel of Jim’s body beneath him; and by the looks of it, Jim was rather enjoying it as well. But that’s something he decides not to entertain as he clicks off the screen and settles into the bed.

Jim emerges from the bathroom a while later. McCoy hears the quiet rustling of clothes and eventually feels the mattress sink as Jim arranges himself beneath the covers. At the first press of Jim’s naked back against his t-shirt, he realizes just how small the bed is. He also realizes that Jim is freezing.

He doesn’t think before asking, “Did the hot water run out? I didn’t use it all did I?”

Friction rubs his shoulder as he feels Jim shrug. “Maybe I just wanted to take a cold shower.”

There’s really no response for that, at least not one that doesn’t involve him categorically thinking of every possible reason for Jim’s body needing a cold shower. So McCoy just lies in the dark facing the window, mentally pleading for the silence not to grow awkward.  
Jim sighs slightly. “Goodnight, Bones.”

He can tell that the conversation is done for the night from Jim’s tone and responds with a “G’night,” of his own.


	5. Chapter 5

The next morning they eat breakfast in the diner attached to the motel. And while it’s not entirely obvious, McCoy is definitely feeling a slight sense of ‘off-ness’ to their interactions. He knows it’s because of their tussle on the bed the night before, but he’ll be damned if he’s going to bring that up specifically. He ponders for a while about just letting it wallow between the two of them, but finds himself reluctant to ruin the closeness they established on the ride yesterday.

So when their meals arrive, he decides to take action and snatches two strips of bacon from Jim’s plate, eating them with forced nonchalance.

“Hey!” Jim protests. “What’s up with you, Mr. Eat-Healthy-or-Else-Suffer-the-Consequences?”

McCoy shrugs, not quite meeting Jim’s gaze. “Washboard abs are overrated.”

Jim’s eyes narrow slightly.

“Besides, it’s like I said; if I was any more in shape, you’d never have a fighting chance,” he does meet Jim’s eyes then, hoping that he’s projecting a reassuring sort of feeling to get things back to normal.

That makes Jim crack a smile, and the tension leaves in its wake. 

McCoy notices that familiar glint of determination flare up in those blue eyes. And there’s a part of him that’s starting to realize that he might not mind giving Jim another chance to pin him down.

 

-oOo-

 

Out on the road again, Jim continues his singing where he left off. He’s bopping his head along to ‘Jump’ by Van Halen when he turns to McCoy who’s sitting slouched down in the seat, knees braced on the dash. “Come on, why aren’t you singing?”

“To this ancient stuff?”

Jim looks exaggeratedly offended. “Ancient he says! This stuff is the best; don’t tell me you don’t know any of it?”

“I didn’t say that. Maybe I just don’t drive around frightening local wildlife by yowling at the top of my lungs.”

“Hmm,” Jim casts him an appraising look, blessedly stopping the bickering before it even starts, and turns his attention back to the road.

The song ends and a few more play through, Jim singing all the while. McCoy is lazing back in the seat and enjoying the late summer sun shining down when he unconsciously starts humming along to the beginning of ‘Bohemian Rhapsody’.

“Hah!” Jim crows in triumph. “I hear you over there humming; I knew I’d get to you eventually.” He’s all smiles he thumps the seat in happiness. “Don’t feel bad though, no one can resist this song.”

McCoy can’t hold back a chuckle at the kid’s enthusiasm. “Yeah, yeah, you caught me.”

“So are you going to join in or are you too afraid of scaring rabbits?”

McCoy turns and rolls his eyes before catching Jim’s gaze, pausing to get ready as the next verse starts.

“Mama! Ooh!" they both croon, their voices carrying behind them as they speed down the highway.

By the time they get to ‘Pour Some Sugar on Me’, they’re both singing and wiggling in their seats in a poor imitation of dancing. Jim pulls into a shuttle stop and they both turn towards each other, invisible microphones in their hands and sing, “I’m hot sticky sweet, from my head to my feet”, at each other. The move is unplanned but so in sync that it sets them off laughing.

They’re getting an assortment of dirty looks from the station’s patrons, and on any other day or in any other company, McCoy might find it in himself to be embarrassed. But he’s not, not remotely. In fact, he just bites his lip and head bangs at two college-aged girls who’d been giving them the stink eye. They scoff and keep walking, making Jim laugh all the harder beside him.

“My teachers were right, I am a bad influence,” he laughs again, shutting the car off. “I’ll be right back with lunch.” And with that he heads off into the station.

McCoy works his way through some residual chuckles and can’t stop an easy grin from spreading over his face. For the first time in ages he feels truly relaxed. Even the thought of officially entering Starfleet in just a few days’ time doesn’t seem as stressful as it has in the past few months. And, good natured grumping aside, he’s pretty damned glad Jim dragged him along on this dumb trip.

He’s pulled from his train of thought when he realizes that it’s taking Jim much longer to get some readymade sandwiches than it should. Craning his head to the side, he sees Jim logging out of the computer terminal behind the counter and hugging the little old lady that’s working the register. She in turn smiles and bats him lightly on the shoulder before pointing out the window at McCoy and tilting her head to the side. Jim nods and she flaps her hand at him, obviously enthusiastic in whatever she’s saying. Jim looks down sheepishly and rubs the back of his neck before heading towards the door, turning towards the counter once more before leaving. 

“Thanks again!” he calls back.

To say McCoy is suspicious doesn’t even begin to cover it. “So what was that all about?” he asks as Jim sits down in the driver’s seat once more.

“Hmm?” Jim hands him a chicken wrap from the bag he’s carrying.

“You know damn well what I’m talking about. What was up with that lovey-dovey exchange behind the counter?”

“Oh, _that_!” Jim asks as though he suddenly clued in to the conversation. “That, my friend, is a surprise.” He winks, punching in a quick code to the GPS system on the dash.

McCoy narrows his eyes. “You should know by now that that word coming from your mouth causes me nothing but apprehension and dread.”

Jim just chuckles, biting into his sandwich as he backs out of the parking lot. “And that’s half the fun!” He waves the hand with the sandwich at McCoy, bits of lettuce falling to the floor. “And none of that narrowed eye, suspicious face business. Go back to smiling, it looks good on you.”

Unable to come up with a response to that and still puzzling over Jim’s surprise, McCoy just mumbles, “Drive.” Jim grins and peels out of the parking lot, tires screeching as he sings ‘Back in Black’ through a mouthful of sandwich.

 

-oOo-

 

Closer to evening, McCoy notices that Jim’s singing has slowed to the occasional hummed lyric as he starts checking the map system more and more frequently. 

“You know,” McCoy comments, as Jim whips his head up to check a road sign, “When I decided to come on this little adventure of yours, I kind of assumed you wouldn’t get us lost.”

“M’not lost,” Jim murmurs, looking down at the display again.

“You sure look lost, dumbass.”

Jim fiddles with the screen. “Yeah, well double dumbass on you,” he replies, distracted. “I just took a wrong turn a mile or so back, but according to this we’ll just make a sort of circle and be right where we need to be.” He sticks his tongue out before turning his attention to the road, looking much more focused.

They drive on for a bit and McCoy notices a different smell to the air; looking out at the horizon, he sees the sunset casting a brilliant shimmering light over the ground. “Okay, so if we’re not lost, where on earth are we?”

“Surprise! Welcome to Lake Tahoe, Bones!” Jim grins, sitting up a bit straighter to watch as more water is revealed, the reds and oranges from the sunset flickering all the brighter on the lake’s surface. He slows the car down, turning onto a road that runs parallel to the lake. “Isn’t it gorgeous?”

It is. A bit farther off in the distance, McCoy can see the silhouettes of mountains black against the setting sun. “You’re not gonna hear me disagree.” He hears Jim exhale, and can tell just from that that the kid is feeling pleased with himself. “Isn’t it going a bit out of the way just to drive past a lake at sunset though, Jim?”

“What can I say, I’m a romantic,” Jim winks. “Besides, it’s totally on the way, and it’s not like we’re going to be here for just one sunset.”

McCoy lifts an eyebrow at him.

“Ah, ah, ah. That’s another part of the surprise, so just you wait.” 

The sun is just about fully set when Jim turns off into a parking lot. A little ways back is a cabin nestled in a patch of trees. “Tah dah!” Jim gestures as he shuts the car off, “Our residence for tonight and tomorrow. How’s that for a good way to spend some time in our last week of freedom?”

McCoy is nearly speechless for a moment because, really, it’s as perfect as he can think of. He’s always been one for simple and relaxing vacations, and this cabin on the lake is just about his definition of heaven. And the thought of Jim planning out the surprise and sharing it with him is beginning to do funny things to his insides. “Really damned good actually,” he manages to grit out. “Jim how on earth did you manage this?”

Jim is beaming from ear to ear at his reaction as he hops out of the car. “I’m just full of surprises, Bones. Although in this case, the lovely Ms. Sara back at the gas station helped with the generous use of the store’s computer.” 

“Ah, so that’s what that was about,” McCoy chuckles as he gets out of the car, walking around to the trunk to help Jim with the bags.

“Indeed it was,” Jim replies, leading the way up a short path to the cabin. “She said she’s always happy to help out two love birds in need of some get away time.”

McCoy stumbles over nothing and manages to catch himself before completely face planting in the gravel.

Jim apparently doesn’t notice, carrying on as he scans his ID at a little panel next to the door. “I told her that we weren’t exactly love birds and she said if that’s the case then she’d just wish us luck.” 

Jim does turn to look at him then and when their eyes meet there’s a bit of weight to it. McCoy’s stomach flutters a little as he realizes that he’s not nearly as up to speed with flirting as he once was if he’s floundering this bad. And Jim, he’s finally come to realize, is most _definitely_ flirting with him.

“Did she now?” he answers lamely.

“She did. I just told her thanks, it never hurts to have a bit of extra luck.” He grins as he swings the door open.

McCoy follows him in and when he notices that there’s only a single bed in the bedroom once again, he decides not to comment on it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ah, yes, the sing-a-long. You can't have a road trip without one. 
> 
> Also, my shameless use of one of my favorite lines from 'The Voyage Home'.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter starts out in a flash back. It ends at the -oOo-

Leonard McCoy stumbles into the bar two blocks from some godforsaken speed train station in Iowa already buzzed. Swaying slightly on his feet just inside the door, he arrives in time to see a burly guy in a leather jacket knock some blond kid flat on the floor.

“And you better remember that, Kirk,” the guy spits, kicking at the kid’s boot before shoving past McCoy on his way out.

McCoy’s gaze wavers after him before returning to the guy on the floor in front of him. “What an ass,” he grumbles, reaching down to help the blond off the floor.

“Ugh,” the blond replies. “No more than usual, this is a bi-weekly occurrence most of the time. Apparently I never remember whatever stupid lesson he tries to punch into me.” He takes McCoy’s hand, grimacing as he’s pulled off the floor. “Thanks. Jim Kirk, by the way,” he says by way of introduction, turning the helping hand grip into a handshake.

“McCoy, Leonard McCoy,” he takes in Jim’s appearance once they’re eye to eye. His lip is split and bleeding, and his left eye is starting to bruise. He doesn’t even think before saying, “You look like shit, buy me a drink and I’ll fix you up.”

Jim, apparently, doesn’t think over anything either, because he just shrugs and points to a booth near the back. “I’ll be there in a minute.”

When he gets there, he’s carrying a tray of four beers and two shots. “You’re the first person to peel me off the floor in this town in years, it’s nothing,” he says in response to McCoy’s raised eyebrow at all the drinks. “Although, I have to say it’s a bit weird for some stranger to just offer medical help in a bar, especially judging by the smell of booze already on your breath.”

“Not as weird as it is for you to just accept it,” McCoy counters, grabbing a shot and throwing it back. “I’m a doctor; I think I can handle some dermal-regen cream even when I’m tipsy.” He reaches into the bag he has with him and tosses Jim a tube. “If this is a bi-weekly thing I’m assuming you know how to use it.”

Jim snorts and rubs the cream in. In a few minutes the bruise fades and the crack in his lip is sealed over fairly well. 

“So, Doctor Leonard McCoy, are you planning on telling me what the hell you’re doing in this piss pot town in Iowa? An accent like that isn’t from around here,” he slurs out after a while.

McCoy, working on his second beer, is so far beyond giving a fuck that he launches into the story of his past two days. He rambles on about finding Jocelyn, his longtime girlfriend, in bed with a now former mutual friend. About how they got into a screaming match over it, about how she said that she just couldn’t handle the pressures of living with a doctor especially one going into ‘Fleet service, and how in the end she didn’t even want to try to make it work. He tells Jim about how he pawned the ring that he’d kept in his sock drawer for three months, and how he spent that money on booze and a speed train ticket. 

“I told her that I’d go a thousand miles away, and I did,” he mumbles. “I got on m’PADD, looked up ‘Fleet ports a thousand miles from Georgia and found one near a shipyard here…and that’s why I’m here.” He finishes lamely, throwing his hands out to the sides and knocking over one of the now many empty beer bottles that had accumulated on the table. 

Across from him, Jim nods sagely, having listened to the whole story, agreeing where necessary and throwing in the occasional curse when needed. “Good, good for you,” he mumbles. “You know…I’m gearing up for the ‘Fleet myself.”

And then Jim launches into his tale, about how his father was _The_ George Kirk (“Holy fuck,” said McCoy) and how he’s been nothing but some delinquent punk in this town, where all he ever did was live under the expectations that his father’s ghost had put upon him. He’d grown up thinking that he’d never join up in the service, that it was the last thing he ever wanted to do until just a few weeks ago.

“And anyway, yeah a few weeks ago,” Jim continues after finishing another beer, “I met up with this guy who knew him, my Dad, here in this very bar, and the guy just goes and challenges me to do better than he did, and so I told him I would. I’m gonna show all of them, Mr. Sawbones,” he reaches over to poke McCoy in the chest. “And you’re gonna show wass-her-name too. We both will.”

McCoy nods. He didn’t elaborate on exactly how devastated his whole ordeal really made him, and he’s positive there’s more to Jim joining the ‘Fleet than he’s really letting on about, but he can tell in that sure drunken haze that comes with commiserating at a bar, that they both understand what goes unspoken.

That night they end up sleeping on the benches in the speed train station and when McCoy wakes up, Jim’s already gone.

It certainly isn’t the last he sees of him though, oh no, because apparently in Jim’s book one drunken night of rant sessions is enough to cement the foundations of a perfect friendship. McCoy sees him around campus, where he finally enrolls to pick up some pre-requisite ‘Fleet credits; he sees him around the small town too, and each time he does Jim bounds up to him like an excited dog. They get drunk together a lot in the early days, but they gradually slide into having the occasional lunch together, and eventually just start hanging out in general. Much to McCoy’s initial annoyance and claims of just ‘wanting to be a sad pathetic bastard alone, thanks,’ they do wind up in some sort of friendship. He also, against all arguments, keeps the ‘Sawbones’ nickname…shortened now to Bones. Eventually he even ceases griping at Jim to stop calling him that. Those sorts of battles will always be lost when you’re going up against Jim Kirk.

And now nearly a year later, McCoy is on a road trip with the same dumb kid he found on the floor of a bar, the same dumb kid that he’s starting to fall helplessly for…

 

-oOo-

 

In the morning, McCoy wakes up with Jim facing him, with his hand curled lightly against McCoy’s elbow where it’s bent and poking out from beneath the pillow. It’s a small gesture, and it’s barely even a touch, but it’s enough to fully wake him up and make him sneak out of the bed before he can dwell too long on what Jim’s face looks like while he’s sleeping. He double checks to make sure Jim hasn’t woken up before tip-toeing out the door onto the porch.

The early morning air is cool and clear, and a few deep breaths is enough to get his mind calm enough to think about exactly what the hell is going on. He leans against the railing, staring out into the trees and just thinks.

He thinks back to that night at the bar, thinks about this whole past year, and…thinks about how even though he felt like Jocelyn was the one, if he’s being true to himself, he realizes that even that relationship was never quite like this. This whole thing has just felt so easy, like it was supposed to happen even with it’s not so grand beginnings. Despite still being unsure of exactly what to do with Jim’s obvious flirting, he’s finally letting himself accept the fact that, yeah, he wants it to happen. And if all it took was a road trip before signing themselves over to Starfleet for the rest of their lives, then…so be it.

Of course, as soon as he acknowledges that, he starts thinking of all the ways it can go belly up and he just doesn’t think he can handle that again. Jocelyn had been his first, and only, long term relationship and look how that went. He can’t just do anything by halves, even if he wants to. And this is all assuming that Jim isn’t just after him to get him in the sack, which has been the case with most of Jim’s relationships. It’s not that he thinks badly of it in any way, it’s just that he knows that Jim isn’t really one for long term commitment. Not to mention that even if he was, who’s to say that they’re not going to be separated onto different ships in just three years’ time? That particular thought causes a cold stinging sensation deep in his stomach, because even if this goes nowhere, the thought of being literally light years away from Jim makes him almost start to shake.

Taking a deep breath he puts his face into his hands, pressing them hard against his cheeks and eyes and just groans. The sound apparently covered up the door opening, because before McCoy realizes he’s even there, Jim’s hand rubs over his shoulders and slides down to rest against his lower back. It feels amazing and oddly terrifying.  
Jim leans against the railing as well, and McCoy is waiting for some kind of quip, but turns to see a calm, almost shy look on Jim’s face, one that’s obviously covering up a deep, nearly scared uncertainty. He knows immediately that Jim knows what he was thinking, and is worried despite himself. There’s a tension in the air, one that he would break if he only knew how.

“I made pancakes,” Jim says, forcing lightness into his voice. “Real ones; there’s a fully stocked kitchen in there. So, there’s not going to be any crappy replicated flapjacks in this cabin.”

McCoy lets the silence stretch for a beat, before placing a hand over Jim’s on the railing; he lets it sit there trying to convey everything that he can’t seem to say through the weight of his touch. Jim seems to get it and smiles, some of the uncertainty in his eyes fading away.

“Come on,” he slides his other hand up McCoy’s back again and pats him between the shoulders.

“You better have tons of syrup,” McCoy finally says; it’s the one sugary indulgence he just can’t help himself when presented with.

“I like the way you think,” Jim grins and, like it always happens when that damn smile of his shows up, things go back to feeling normal.


	7. Chapter 7

The next two days pass in a lazy haze of contentment. They take hikes around the lake; Jim goes swimming as McCoy dangles his legs in the water from a dock, catching up on some medical journals that he actually wants to read. It’s nice to be able to just read without any obligations for schoolwork attached. Jim even coerces him to play a game of Frisbee in a picture perfect meadow filled with wildflowers.

It’s so perfect that it’s almost ridiculous. It certainly isn’t helping to make sense of the mess McCoy’s emotions are in, but it’s perfect nonetheless. Because, despite Jim being the source of all the turmoil, he’s also the only one capable of distracting him enough to make it all fade to general background unease. And McCoy would be damned if he could find anyone else that’s made up of those sort of contradictions other than Jim Kirk. 

Late on the evening of their last day at the lake, McCoy comes out of the bathroom to find Jim hunched over the kitchen island, typing frantically away on McCoy’s PADD. “Now what are you up to?” he asks, his voice full of suspicion that he doesn’t really mean; because if there’s one thing he’s learning on this trip, it’s that Jim’s latest surprises have all been good.

Jim’s head jerks up guiltily, exiting out of a few windows and shutting the PADD down. “Huh? Nothing, just…checking some emails?” he responds, flinching at the question that snuck into his voice. 

“Uh huh,” McCoy says playfully skeptical, before walking up and snatching his PADD away and tucking it back into his bag. “What happened? Did your PADD break or disappear?”

Jim eyes him with a smirk. “Neither, it was too far away. All the way in the bedroom and I couldn’t just leave in the middle of my preparations.”

“And what preparations are those?” McCoy asks, noting the relief in Jim’s face when he realized McCoy wasn’t going to press about what he was doing on his PADD. 

Jim gestures grandly to the other side of the island, where a bag of marshmallows, a box of graham crackers, and a stack of chocolate bars are sitting next to some long metal forks. “S’mores preparations, Bones. Absolutely important campfire business, which we will need to be completing very soon,” he grins.

McCoy raises his eyebrows and nods towards the door. “Well then, let’s get on with it.” He follows Jim, who scooped up the whole pile before running out the door, with a chuckle.

By the time the path brings him around the back of the cabin, Jim already has some logs stacked up in a teepee shape, and smoke is starting to creep out from where he’s crouching down and holding a lighter. How Jim can move so fast when the urge strikes him, is beyond McCoy. The man can be determined as hell when he wants to be. “Man, when you say campfires are a business, you’re not kidding are you?” He comes to a stop outside the cleared area and watches Jim poke and prod at the fire some more.

“You know me, Bones. I never kid,” Jim smirks and McCoy lets out a snort. “Go on, pull up a log.”

McCoy does, flopping down on the ground next to a big fallen tree, leaning his lower back against it. In a few minutes, Jim has a decent fire going and before long their fingers are sticky with marshmallow and chocolate residue.

“Oh my god,” Jim groans after his, (‘Seriously, Jim, that is your seventh.’), s’more. “Pretty sure I’m never getting rid of that pudge now,” he says, standing to stoke the fire.

“You’ve got no one to blame but yourself, you know,” McCoy states, licking some chocolate from his thumb and settling back against the log.

Jim just raises his eyebrows and makes a conceding little hum as he sits down on the ground in front of McCoy, scooting his ass back until he’s nestled between McCoy’s bent legs, back pressed against his front. He sighs happily and flops his weight back against him.

McCoy let’s out an over-exaggerated ‘oompf’ and tries his hardest not to tense up at the feeling of Jim’s body resting against him. Goddamn is the kid warm. “Ugh, you’re right, you’re so damn heavy,” he says, voice dripping with fake sarcasm. “And do I look like a chair to you?”

Jim shrugs, the movement rubbing against McCoy’s chest and he fights hard not to squirm. “Not really,” he turns his head slightly and McCoy sees an absolutely wicked grin plastered on his face. “But you do have enough wrinkles to be made of leather, old man.”

“You utter _bastard_ ,” McCoy growls, grabbing Jim roughly under the ribs and squeezing.

The squeal Jim lets out startles a nearby owl and its undignified hoot, combined with the squeal is enough to get both of them laughing. And when the laughter fades, and Jim leans his head back onto McCoy’s shoulder still chuckling, McCoy is once again treated to the odd dichotomy of their relationship. It’s amazing how fast they can go from being complete idiots to this quiet, warm and stirring contentment. 

Taking a deep breath that he knows Jim will feel, he relaxes and rests his cheek lightly against Jim’s hair. The pleased little hum Jim makes is worth it.

“Bones, can I ask you a personal question?” McCoy can feel his voice rumbling through Jim’s body and into his own. It feels far better than he’ll ever admit to anyone.

“After the other day what else can you possibly want to know?”

“Why are you going up into the black? I mean, you can’t even ride in a shuttle without panicking…” he asks.

“I could ask the same of you, minus the aviophobia,” McCoy deflects.

Jim takes the bait and sighs, shrugging again. “I dunno, Bones. You know about Pike and all,” McCoy nods and Jim continues. “It’s just…there’s…there’s more though, because even if Pike hadn’t talked to me, I still feel this…I dunno… this draw. And this probably sounds like a load of bullshit, but I really think it’s my destiny to go up,” he points out towards the horizon, tracing what McCoy thinks is Aquila, in the night sky. “I know somewhere deep inside of myself, that there are answers out there. And I know I gotta be the one who finds them and I have to be the one who keeps going; I’ve got to do _better_. It’s the only way I’m going to be able to keep living with myself…” his voice trails off. 

McCoy’s chest clenches at Jim’s last admission, and he subconsciously wraps his arms a little tighter around Jim, caging him against his body and trying to convey understanding and support in the gesture. “You’re gonna do great, Jim. I know you will,” he murmurs.

Jim, because he’s Jim and he always gets it, puts his hands over McCoy’s wrists, rubbing his fingers over the backs of his hands slowly. “Thanks, Bones.”

They’re quiet for a few moments, Jim’s fingers still tracing aimlessly on his skin. It’s only then that McCoy realizes he still hasn’t answered Jim’s question. “I guess I’m looking for answers too,” his voice is low and hesitant. “I…I want to help people. I mean, that’s why I became a doctor and medicine has come so far but there’s still so much to learn, still so much suffering; did you know there are planets where major forms of curable diseases are still killing people? If there’s any way I can help with that, if there’s any way that I can stop that suffering, I’ve got to do it…I want to help. And if I have to go out into space in some giant floating death trap with a warp core to do it, then so be it.”

At some point he’d gotten super passionate about what he was saying, his voice taking on a determination he hadn’t had in his reasoning since--well--since ever really. He wasn’t even able to describe his reasoning to Jocelyn, but here he was, sitting in the dirt giving Jim a rousing speech about his life’s work and meaning every damn word.

Speaking of Jim, McCoy realizes after he finishes that he’s gripping McCoy’s hands so hard that they’re trembling; their fingers are laced together. For some reason that’s the breaking point and everything is suddenly too serious for McCoy and if Jim can tip the scales between joking and seriousness, then so can he.

“Besides…” he tries to make his voice sound lighter. “Someone has to keep reckless idiots who insist on adventuring out in space alive, and it’s not like I’ve got anything left for me earthside.”

Jim lets out a shaky huff of laughter and McCoy can hear the same struggle for lightheartedness in his tone. “You’ve got me don’t you?”

McCoy feels his pulse quicken and wonders vaguely if Jim can feel it too. “I suppose; but you’re hauling ass out into the void too. So I’d go anyway,” and he really, really didn’t mean for it to sound like that but…

“So you’re saying you’re going to stick with me? We might not even be assigned the same ship, you know.”

McCoy forces out a laugh. “Like you wouldn’t find some way to smuggle yourself onto the same ship if I got a different post. I’d go to unpack my luggage and discover that you got rid of all my underwear just to curl yourself up in my suitcase.”

“Now there’s an idea,” Jim chuckles. “I’m always good for any sort of plan that would get you to go commando.”

“Shut up,” McCoy groans and buries his face against Jim’s shoulder. Jim nuzzles back and they stay like that for a very long time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Personally this is my favorite chapter. I'm a sucker for fluff.


	8. Chapter 8

They wake up the next morning completely wrapped around one another. McCoy is once again the first to open his eyes and his heart immediately jumps to his throat. Not out of nerves, really…but at just how damn easy this all seems to be and how damn good it feels. They haven’t even _said_ anything about it, not outright anyway, and already whatever is blossoming between them has the ability to make McCoy completely punch-drunk.

The sigh he lets out is enough to wake Jim. Blue eyes open and give him an unfocused look before crinkling as Jim flashes him a groggy morning smile. And if McCoy hadn’t been completely gone before, he definitely doesn’t stand a chance now.

“It’s too early in the morning to be thinking that hard,” Jim mumbles, bopping a finger between his eyebrows. “You’re going to make those wrinkles permanent.”

He seems to be much more confident in dealing with McCoy’s early morning doubt sessions than he was the other day. Something’s changed then. He’s definitely erased some doubt, and McCoy’s brain whirs with exactly what could have done it. Replaying last night leaves him with lots of questions, but those questions all seem to be pointing to positive answers.

Jim’s smile turns fond. “Seriously, stop worrying so much,” he says softly, untangling himself from McCoy’s limbs and climbing out of bed. “I’ll be damned if we’re leaving here without homemade pancakes one last time. Who knows what sort of freeze-dried replicator crap they’ll be serving us in the ‘Fleet.”

Still in bed, McCoy lets out a breath he didn’t realize he was holding and sags against the pillow. “It’ll be healthy at least.”

“Yeah, but where’s the fun in that?” Jim chuckles, tossing McCoy’s bag onto the bed. “Get packing and I’ll get cooking.”

 

-oOo-

 

Leaving the cabin seems like a turning point, a chapter’s end. The next leg of their journey has a destination that now seems all too real, and there’s a noticeable lack of anticipation for further big surprises. Instead, McCoy is noticing lots of little things; the exact way Jim’s hair blows in the wind as they travel down the road, the number of miles on the road signs getting lower and lower next to the words ‘San Francisco’, and the fact that Jim has their pinkies linked together on the seat between them… it’s a change, but it’s a nice and welcomed one.

The skyline of San Francisco seems to come at them out of nowhere. On the horizon, blocking out the shine of the ocean behind it, buildings bearing the Starfleet insignia rise toward the sky; shuttles and personal vehicles are buzzing around like bees at their hive. The silence between them grows heavier.

“Here we are,” Jim says, voice quiet.

“Yeah, one…one more day,” McCoy says, unable to stop the pause that creeps in.

Jim nods solemnly, forcing a grin. “Then let’s make the most of it.”

He guns the car to an exit that leads to the beach and they’re off.

When they get there, Jim bursts from the car without a word and runs toward the surf. McCoy knows just what he’s doing, he knows a way of releasing pent up energy and nerves when he sees it, and chokes back any warnings that he wants to throw at Jim as the blond dives into the ocean.

Cringing at the sight, he feels a phantom ache in his knee and a gone-but-not-forgotten panic in his chest. He doesn’t breathe again until Jim’s head pops out of the water once more. Settling down into the sand, he slides his hands into the grains, propping his arms out behind him, and watches the unending ebb and flow of the water, keeping a careful eye on Jim as well.

He doesn’t need to worry much longer though; Jim’s swim lasts about five minutes before he lumbers his way up the beach, completely soaked and dripping. 

“D-damn that’s cold,” he shivers. He shuffles closer to McCoy, a wicked grin on his face as he wrings his t-shirt out over McCoy’s stomach.

“ _Dammit_ , Jim!” He’s right, the water’s freezing. “It seems like all you’ve done this trip is get me wet!” he grouses. 

As soon as the words leave his mouth, he regrets it. The grin on Jim’s face turns positively lecherous. “You know, Bones…things would be getting really interesting right about now if you were a girl saying tha—“

“Shut up…just, you just shut up,” he raises his eyebrows in warning.

Jim, however, just sinks to his knees over him so that they’re eye-to-eye. “You going to make me?”

The challenge is there. The invitation, and levels of hope and uncertainty are there too. McCoy thinks _you fucking bet I am_ , and kisses him right there on the beach.

As far as first kisses go it must be good for Jim, because the moment their lips connect Jim stops holding himself up and drops his entire soaking wet body right on top of him. And that’s how it ends, because the wind gets knocked straight out of McCoy, who lets out an epic squawk that morphs into a groan. 

“Shit, you’re gonna freeze to death,” McCoy manages to gasp out and what he says next is further proof that his mind is completely gone. “We’ll have to get you out of those clothes.”

Blue eyes practically burn into him as Jim growls out, “About damn time,” and before McCoy can get another word out, he’s being kissed mercilessly.

And _damn_ is it good. There’s one very loud part of his brain yelling at him for being dumb enough to put this off, because if they could have been doing this for the entire time they’ve known each other, then McCoy has been seriously missing out. The rest of him, however, is noticing just how warm he’s getting despite the fact that Jim is really freaking cold.

He’s just pulled back long enough to give his tongue a break when Jim throws his head back and stares down at him with that heated look again. 

“You…you all done with the beach then? No more swimming or saving the whales or whatever?” McCoy says, managing not to sound completely breathless.

“Bones, we both know there haven’t been any whales around for centuries, a real pity, but for the love of _god_ , yes I’m done, and I swear if you don’t make good on your promise to get me out of these clothes I’ll make you fuck me right here on the beach, and sand will get into all sorts of uncomfortable places and…”

McCoy kisses him again just to shut him up, surprised and pleased that it actually works. He’s definitely going to use this tactic in the future…a lot. 

“Bones,” Jim whines, pulling back again, this time standing and tugging McCoy up after him. “C’mon.”

And he’ll be damned if he can start walking without kissing Jim again. But Jim seems to have more self-control than he does at the moment, because he only lets it last for a fleeting moment before dragging McCoy by the wrist to the car; and has sand always been this damn hard to run on?

He barely remembers the ensuing car ride, because to be honest, he’s completely clouded over with desire. The one thing he remembers is Jim making a hard left turn at some point, stopping in front of a drug store. “We need, we need things Bones, I can’t go in I’m…”

“Yeah,” he nods, hardly aware of what he’s doing. He nearly strangles himself when he forgets to undo his seatbelt, and Jim’s laugh at that is high pitched and hysterical. The Orion girl working the counter is nothing but smug, smirking at him knowingly when he throws down lube and condoms and practically shouts, “Take however much you need,” before handing her a credit chip.

Rushing back outside he slides back into the car, Jim bouncing up and down and chanting, “C’mon, c’mon, c’mon.”

The rest of the way to the hotel that Jim had booked a week ago (and holy crap has it really only been that long?) is another blur. Before he can really process what’s going on, they’re both out of the car and Jim’s fumbling with the keypad for entry to their room. They barely say a word until the door slides shut with a hiss…

And it’s almost like the hiss was a starter’s pistol, because McCoy can physically no longer keep the two of them apart. Pushing Jim up against the wall, he crushes their lips together; Jim’s moan at the action expresses nothing short of relief.

Everything is completely frantic and awkward. They keep knocking teeth together, coming close for messy kisses as McCoy struggles to get Jim out of his wet clothes. It’s a chore though, because Jim keeps insisting on trying to get McCoy out of his at the same time.

“Okay, okay,” McCoy huffs out as Jim accidentally rams his head into McCoy’s chin. “This…we’ve gotta…” he reluctantly pulls away, tugging his shirt over his head. “We’ll strip each other next time, just—“

Jim growls at that, surging in to suck a bruise onto his neck. McCoy shivers before continuing. “Take your damn pants off already.”

“Fine,” Jim says, hopping a bit as he peels his wet jeans and boxers off. “You get naked too, Bones, because—“

Jim’s completely naked…and McCoy is the one to interrupt this time, kissing Jim hard, raking his hands down Jim’s chest where the cold already has his nipples hard and just waiting to be pinched. Jim moans when he does and McCoy pulls back to watch the flush spread down his chest from where his hands are tracing warmth back into Jim’s skin. 

When he looks back up, Jim is staring at him like he can’t believe this is happening. He stares back, keeping Jim’s gaze as he leans in for another kiss; this one is slower, finally taking the time to explore and get to know Jim’s mouth. For a moment everything slows down, and it lifts a huge weight that McCoy didn’t even realize he was carrying off of his shoulders. The relaxation it leaves in its wake is like coming home. 

Jim’s sighing against his mouth, guiding McCoy’s hands down to his waist, where he sways them slightly. “Bones…” he whispers, almost a question, and _god_ that’s all it takes for McCoy to get flustered again.

“Yeah, Jim…bed, c’mon,” he nips at Jim’s lower lip and guides them back towards the bed, laying Jim down before dashing back to the door to grab the drug store bag from the floor where he’d dropped it. 

Tossing it to the bed, he pauses to tug his own jeans down. On the bed, Jim lets out a wolf whistle. “You know, I was totally flirting with you when I touched those abs the other day,” he says, hand trailing down to grab his cock and give it a slow pull.

McCoy nearly falls over as he kicks his jeans and underwear off his ankles. “You were flirting with me this whole damn trip,” he grumbles, straddling Jim on the bed and tugging his hand away, replacing it with his own.

Jim gasps, arching up into the touch before lying down again and writhing on the sheets. “Y-you’re not wrong, _fuck_ Bones!”

“When am I ever wrong?” he asks, leaning down to bite at Jim’s collar bone. “Other than taking too damn long to do this-- god Jim…” his voice trails off into a moan as Jim tugs him up to suck a mark into his neck.

“Still taking too long,” Jim breathes out, flopping a hand around on the sheets until he grabs the bag. “Seriously, there’s going to be lots and lots more opportunity for foreplay sessions I assure you, but I’m _really_ on a hair trigger here…” 

A fresh wave of heat courses through McCoy’s body and he grips Jim’s cock harder without meaning to. Beneath him, Jim groans loud and long before grumbling out, “Bastard,” and thrusting the lube at his chest.

“Sorry,” he placates, moving his hand to trail it up Jim’s body and pull his face into one last kiss. Sliding down the bed he urges Jim to push his legs up while he pops the cap on the tube and squeezes some onto his fingers.

From the moment his first finger slides inside of the body below him, it feels as if his mind is wrapped in cotton. Everything is a warm and hazy heat as Jim groans, feet pushing into the mattress as he arcs up, sighing out encouragement as McCoy works him open. He can feel Jim relaxing, opening for him, and his mind goes completely wild at the thought that pretty soon he’s going to be wrapped in that tight heat, thrusting into it and…

“Fucking hell, Jim…is that, are you good?” he asks, finally coming back into some semblance of coherency.

Jim is, as always, two steps ahead. He tears open a condom packet and motions for McCoy to come closer. “Y-yeah, yeah, come here, Bones.”

McCoy moves up again, kissing him as Jim maneuvers the condom on. He breaks away when Jim’s hand continues to stroke him a few times before sliding his hands to the side and pushing at his hips. He tries to say something, tries to think of words that he could possibly use in this exact moment, but he can’t. Instead he traces his thumb against Jim’s jaw, using his other hand to line up and slowly push inside.

Once his thighs hit Jim’s he pauses, completely surrendering himself to the enveloping heat that’s surrounding him and driving him crazy. Trailing his hands down Jim’s chest and sides, he watches in a daze as Jim arcs into the touch like he’s starved for it, and already his mind wanders to a time in the future where he’s going to be able to take Jim apart just with his hands...but he comes back to the present with rapid clarity, withdrawing slightly as he feels Jim clench around him.

When he thrusts back in, Jim writhes on the bed, panting and rubbing his hands on any inch of McCoy’s skin that he can reach. For the longest time, they don’t say a word beyond choked off gasps; their bodies rocking and moving together. McCoy hikes Jim’s hips higher, driving in hard as he leans down, biting onto Jim’s neck.

He stays there a moment longer, sucking an impressive mark into Jim’s skin before he feels hands tugging his face over until their foreheads are resting together. Their breath mingles between them and McCoy can feel the slick, hard heat of Jim’s cock rubbing against his stomach. It’s overwhelming, making him close his eyes as he fights against a groan. Jim, however, mumbles, “Look at me,” as he kisses McCoy, rising to meet each thrust.

McCoy does. He looks into the lust clouded blue eyes and is treated to the sight of James T. Kirk falling apart. He can feel the throaty growl of “Bones” rumbling from Jim’s chest as the heat of his breath gushes against his face. Jim’s body goes taught beneath him, and he feels the warmth between their bodies as Jim comes with his name- the name that Jim gave to him, the name that pretty much marked him as Jim’s from their first meeting- on his lips.

His own orgasm blindsides him as he’s still wrapped up in awe of the man beneath him. He doesn’t make a sound, only managing to take up Jim’s name as a mantra when his arms grow weak and he sinks his face against Jim’s shoulder.

The room is quiet as their breathing slows, the frail silence only breaking when McCoy slides from Jim’s body and Jim lets out a mournful whimper. It’s through sheer force of will that McCoy drags himself out of bed, stumbling to the bathroom on autopilot to dispose of the condom. When he returns with a warm wet cloth, Jim tugs him back into bed, clinging to him tight enough to bruise as McCoy cleans him off.

Their eyes meet as McCoy finishes, tossing the cloth aside and tracing his hands along Jim’s damp skin. 

“Damn…” Jim slurs, eyes growing heavy in complete bliss.

McCoy exhales a laugh, “That good huh?” He raises an eyebrow, unable to keep the smug fondness from his voice. His chest feels like it’s going to burst open with the sheer affection he feels, the sheer…his thoughts stumble for a bit, unsure if he’s willing to go there quite yet, but the word is definitely swimming around the edges of his mind. And it grows all the more stronger as Jim’s hands rub gently at his shoulders before tilting his head up to lay a lingering kiss on McCoy’s forehead.

“Damn right ‘that good’. Better even.” Jim smiles.

“You sure your ego can handle dumping all this praise on me? It’s going to feel neglected soon,” McCoy says as he begins laying soft kisses along Jim’s neck and chest. “Especially if I don’t tell you that you were amazing. Phenomenal. Sexy. Drop. Dead. Gorgeous.” he says, punctuating each word with a kiss, working his way slowly towards Jim’s lips.

Beneath him, Jim shakes with chuckles as he presses their lips together. “Oh, I think it’s going to do just fine, especially if we keep this up. Which we are, right?”

McCoy can’t confirm fast enough; he growls out, “You fucking bet we are,” before kissing Jim breathless.


	9. Chapter 9

Of all the mornings in Leonard H. McCoy’s life, he can’t think of a single one that beats waking up to Jim’s mouth wrapped around his cock. He lets out a low groan as his brain struggles to switch from the haze of sleep to the haze of arousal that’s coursing through him. It’s over almost embarrassingly fast, but he can hardly bring himself to care, because before he can even apologize he’s discovering what he tastes like on Jim’s tongue.

The fact that he can only repay Jim with his hand and some grinding leaves him feeling guilty, but Jim assures him with a kiss that they’ll have time later, because-

“I really hate to be the responsible one here, Bones, but we’ve got about an hour and a half before we have to report to Fleet HQ.”

It feels, for a moment, like he’s back in the ocean again. Everything crashes down on him at once and he realizes that the purpose of this whole damn trip was to get them into their new lives as members of Starfleet…not having the world’s most fantastic sex with Jim. 

“Holy fuck,” he groans, scrubbing his hands over his face and digging the heels of his palms into his eyes. “That’s today, that’s happening.”

“I’m afraid so,” Jim says, giving his shoulder a reassuring squeeze. “Go on and hop in the shower, I’ll go get the bags.”

They get things sorted, and when Jim steps out of the bathroom, tugging at the sleeve of his uniform, they both stop for a moment and stare at one another.

The sense of change is definitely in the air, of things unknown, but it’s nothing McCoy can’t handle now. Especially not with the steady undercurrent of knowing that no matter what happens, Jim’s going to be right beside him. The moment snaps, however, as it often does as soon as Jim opens his mouth.

“It’s a damn good thing we’re pressed for time, because if we weren’t I’d dishevel that uniform so fast you won’t know what hit you.”

McCoy feels his face go hot, probably matching the bright red of his jacket, as heat begins to pool in his belly. He tries--god he tries--to just let it go, but the quick kiss he planned on giving Jim as they stood by the door starts to turn heavy fast.

With a strength he didn’t know he possessed, he pulls away. Jim’s staring at his lips, nodding to himself. “Yeah, yeah…we should go.”

McCoy nods too. “Lead the way.”

 

-oOo-

 

Headquarters is organized chaos. They get to the main building together, but after a frantic checking of their PADDs amidst a sea of red clad cadets, they go their separate ways for check in; McCoy sets off to the medical arts building, and Jim goes on to the main lobby for command track. They squeeze each other’s hands hard before reluctantly letting go.

The next two hours are a lot of waiting in line, signing and initialing forms, and making sure those forms are double and triple checked, and filed. It’s bureaucratic, irritating, and exhausting…and it’s only the _first day_ , McCoy thinks wearily to himself.

The last thing on his agenda is housing check in. It’s rather ridiculous, having to stay on campus at his age. He’s probably going to get stuck with some wet-behind-the-ears kid as a roommate and he’s not looking forward to it. 

His suspicions are aroused even further when the young officer working the housing computer terminal furrows her brow at the screen. “You’re in Medical Dorm 12, room 4113. Your roommate’s name is…well, that’s certainly odd,” she says, tilting her head and typing away.

McCoy waits for an explanation, but none is forthcoming. She just keeps typing away. “Pardon me,” he says, putting on his best Southern charm and trying not to let his frustration seep through. “Is there a problem?”

The girl holds up a finger, eyes flying over the screen for a second more before turning and smiling at him. “Not at all, though it appears your room assignment changed at the last minute. Your roommate’s name isn’t listed. So I suppose you’ll have to play introduction games yourself,” she says, smiling brightly. “I’ve sent your access code to your communicator. Next in line please!”

McCoy moves out of the way, mood darkening as he heads out of the building into the late afternoon sun. With a deep breath, he flips open his comm and dials Jim. “Day one and I’m already going crazy Jim; are you free for dinner?”

“Jeeze, Bones, keep that up that attitude and you’ll have your grumpy reputation spread campus wide before classes even start.” He can hear the laughter in Jim’s voice. “Did you check into your room yet?”

“No,” McCoy sighs, before telling Jim of his issues at sign in.

“Well, you have to do that first,” Jim answers. “I was told they’re making sure everyone’s code is punched in at a certain time so we all don’t break curfew. Curfew, Bones, can you believe it? I will definitely be finding ways around that…”

McCoy snorts. “And you’re worried about my reputation? I’ll see you soon.”

“Sooner than you think,” Jim says, before the line disconnects.

McCoy shakes his head and steps into the dorm turbolift. When he gets to his room, he takes a calming breath as he stands outside his door. He’s going to see Jim soon; Jim who is going to find a way to break curfew, and if he’s lucky, use his skill to spend that broken curfew with McCoy. It’s all fine, it’s all going to be fine.

He punches in his code and the door hisses open. Looking up, he’s met with the sight of Jim standing at the foot of two dorm beds that have been pushed together. He’s beaming like an idiot, arms thrown wide to each side to showcase his (probably against regulation) redecoration.

“Tah dah!” he shouts.

McCoy is struck dumb. Of all the…it’s official. Jim is never going to stop surprising him.

“I take from your awestruck speechlessness that you didn’t ever find out why I stole your PADD at the cabin.”

“Obviously,” McCoy answers, already moving across the room.

Jim flashes him his most devilish grin, meeting him half way and wrapping his arms around McCoy’s waist. “It was a simple hack,” Jim shrugs. “Just the small manner of giving an already doctored cadet some housing privileges. The rules for that sort of thing already existed, kind of. I just…tweaked them a bit.”

McCoy chuckles, “You little shit…I’ve landed myself a criminal.”

Jim laughs outright. “A genius criminal who’s going to make his next offense the dishevelment and possible destruction of Starfleet property,” he says, tugging McCoy into a kiss by the collar of his uniform.

McCoy responds eagerly. Maybe the next few years won’t be so bad after all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The end!
> 
> Gosh. I can hardly believe I'm finally done with this. It's been quite the journey writing this fic, and I couldn't have done it without the help of of some truly amazing people.
> 
> First of all, my eternal gratitude to my phenomenal beta: [Heather](http://archiveofourown.org/users/iseult1124). She deserves the utmost praise for not only complimenting me throughout the writing process, but for also putting up with my comma abuse.
> 
> Secondly, to my group lovely cheerleaders including my IRL best friend [Sara](http://icedsilver.tumblr.com) who put up with my countless texts of frustration and insanity as I was writing. Also to [kirkandbones](http://kirkandbones.tumblr.com), and [spacedarlin](http://spacedarlin.tumblr.com), over on tumblr who were fantastic at keeping me going during the writing process.
> 
> And of course, thanks to all of the McKirk fandom over on tumblr who helped answer the [questions](http://offensiveagentpie.tumblr.com/tagged/road-trip-fic) that I had.
> 
> Oh! And a shout out for all of the great [fanmixes](http://8tracks.com/offensiveagentpie/collections/star-trek) that I listened to while working on this.
> 
> And last but not least, thank you, dear readers, commenters, and kudos leavers! It makes my day every time I get an email update.


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